


figuratives

by lazerkitten



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: F/M, Happy Ending, Light Angst, No beta we die like emmeryn, also can he stop being so dense, which one is the real frederick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-12 19:13:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29389647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazerkitten/pseuds/lazerkitten
Summary: Robin saves Frederick from himself (literally), but emotions are a different beast.
Relationships: Frederick/My Unit | Reflet | Robin
Kudos: 18





	figuratives

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fredrobin fic, hope you enjoy!

Robin sighed as she ran her fingers through her still-damp hair. She had thought that maybe taking a break for a bath would help her mind to better focus on the trade routes she’d been attempting to map out, but no, she still didn’t have it quite right. The lines seemed to move on the page the more she looked at them and no amount of glaring at them forced them back into place. She needed a second pair of eyes, ones that were familiar with the workings of the trades.

Maybe Gaius? The man was a thief, after all. Surely he knew something about the trade routes, but he most likely would only know of good points to waylay caravans. She winced at the harshness of her own critique on Gaius’ behalf; she’d try to sneak him something sweet tomorrow to make up for it.

Chrom? No, he’d said to her himself that the workings of the kingdom weren’t something he was ever good at. He would know what towns were on trade routes but not the way that the traders took to get there. No matter how many times Frederick had tried to drill it into him, it just never stuck.

 _Frederick_. Robin’s heart sped up at the prospect before she squashed her feelings down. Her own attraction aside, Frederick would be the most perfect choice. He knew almost everything about the going-ons of Ylisse. She stood up and slipped on her signature purple coat, not bothering to tie her hair up in the usual twin-tails.

Robin knew the chances of finding Frederick awake at this ungodly hour were slim, but she figured it couldn’t hurt to check. The camp was quiet save for the crackle of the last campfire. The glow of a candle inside the lieutenant’s tent surprised her (and sent a little thrill of anticipation through her), and she softly called out to him as she opened the door flap.

“I can’t believe you're still up, Frederick, isn't it a bit late for...”

She trailed off as she took in the scene. Flickering candlelight cast shadows across the space where Frederick’s armor and belongings were haphazardly knocked around, and there was no sign of the wary man himself. It took her a second to connect the dots of what she was seeing but when it clicked, _boy it clicked._

Frederick was in trouble.

She stumbled backwards out of the tent, willing her wildly pounding heart to quiet down so she could think straight. She made an instinctive grab for the Thoron tome that she kept hidden away in her coat and forced her breathing to slow so she could think straight. 

Frederick’s tent was at the edge of camp, so if he was subdued by an enemy, he would most likely have been taken somewhere in the surrounding forest. She perked up when she detected faint sounds coming from deep in the trees - metal was clashing very strongly against metal, like a lance or an axe...

She immediately bolted in that direction, tracking the distant noise of combat and hoping against hope that she’d find Frederick there. She imagined (and feared) several things, her mind coming up with thousands of different scenarios as she tore through the underbrush with her magic book still clutched in hand. She followed the noise to the edge of a small clearing just visible past the treeline. She readied the tome, Thoron crackling through her fingertips as she prepared to fight whatever might be ahead.

However, even the brilliant tactician couldn’t have fathomed _this._

Not one, but _two_ Fredericks were locked in combat. They moved in a flurry of parries and jabs and swings, each one faster than the last. Neither had armor on; both had their own shares of cuts and scrapes. One turned his head briefly at Robin’s appearance, and the other used it as an opportunity to strike. The first Frederick just barely dodged the swipe, calling out to the tactician while he aimed his lance at his opponent.

“Lady Robin!” he yelled, “thank the gods you’re here!”

“Don’t listen to him, milady!” the other shouted. He blocked the attack with a strong counterswing, but wasn’t fast enough to disarm his opponent. “He’s an imposter!”

“Pegasus dung! _You_ kidnapped _me!_ ”

Robin briefly wondered if she'd accidentally used the electricity spell on herself as she took in what was happening before her. Surely it was just a figment of her imagination; her brain had short-circuited or something and this was all some kind of elaborate dream. Still, the two knights had resumed their fight and she knew she couldn't waste time trying to make sense of it any longer.

She forced herself into tactician mode to assess the situation and figure out who was who. As the Fredericks clashed, she tried to decipher the different techniques they used, but it was no good - whomever the imposter was, they’d done their research. Each strike and counter were so specifically Frederick’s that it was as if he really was fighting himself. _I bet the imposter dressed as a rookie and trained with him_ , she lamented, waffling between the two. Electricity still thrummed in her hand, sparks just waiting to be let loose at a target.

 _But the real Frederick is weak to magic_. She had to be absolutely certain that her suspicions were correct; one wrong move and the lieutenant would die. Her beloved friend (and maybe more, had she courage enough to tell him)... She couldn’t live with herself if her choice was wrong. As it was, she was certain she'd have nightmares either way.

 _He’ll die anyway if I don’t move quickly_ , she agonized. Her stomach turned as she watched them tire each other out - how long they’d been at it before she arrived, she couldn’t tell. Their strikes and slashes were still fast, but not as strong as they’d been before.

“Now, Robin!” one yelled between pants, sending a barrage of swings toward his enemy.

“ _No_!” the other shouted, pulling back his attack to go on the defensive. One jab got through and bit across his side, yet he only gritted his teeth and continued blocking. Suddenly, he dropped his lance and launched himself at the first Frederick, causing him to lose his grip on his weapon as well. They brawled hand to hand, punching and grappling and becoming so tangled up that Robin had no chance of keeping them straight. One landed a solid hit to the other’s solar plexus, crumpling a lieutenant to the ground in a coughing fit.

The Frederick still standing didn’t pursue; he only backed up and pressed a hand to the torn skin on his ribs, breathing fairly heavily himself. He kept his eyes on the fallen man as he said, “Robin, this man is not me.”

She rocketed forward, disarming her spell and skidding to a halt beside the Frederick on the ground. As she knelt beside him, she addressed the one who had spoken. “How do I know that _you_ aren’t _him_?” She narrowed her eyes at him, hauling one of this Frederick’s arms over her shoulder to better support him as she helped him drag himself up to his feet.

The far Frederick looked shocked. “Robin, it’s me! He drugged me-” he pointed an accusatory finger at the Frederick she held up, “-and dragged me here.”

“Don’t listen to him, milady,” Frederick coughed at her side, slowly straightening. “He’s a Plegian spy using some kind of dark magic to mimic me.” He glared bitterly at his opponent across the way.

“Preposterous! Robin, move away from him at once!”

She felt like she was drowning, utterly helpless and unable to breathe. She had thought she’d known which one was which, but then they spun and spun and she just couldn’t track them and she had to be certain and she knew she was panicking and-

The Frederick she was supporting must have noticed her distress. He squeezed her shoulder and even if he was the imposter, she was grateful for the momentary anchor. She tried to take deep breaths, think things through like she would on the battlefield. The lieutenant she held up gently touched her cheek, and she angled her face up to see his mere inches from hers. Her eyes widened and darted subconsciously from his intense brown gaze down to his lips. He smiled and she flushed, immediately bringing her eyes back up to meet his.

“Unhand her at once,” the further Frederick called, murderous intent in his voice. Her gaze briefly shifted to him as he stalked closer, but the closer lieutenant’s tender touch became insistent as he cupped her face. She turned back to him.

“Please, Robin,” he whispered as she searched his expression, “I love you. End this fight.”

She took a breath and closed her eyes, steeling herself for her next move.

“ _Thoron_.”

* * *

Frederick could hardly believe it when Robin struck the false Frederick she carried on her shoulders, sending the imposter stumbling backward with an indignant cry. The electricity from Robin’s attack slowly burned away the man's disguise to reveal his true Plegian form. The lieutenant could’ve slumped to the ground in relief; only sheer will and years of training kept him on his feet.

He glared at the greasy man on the ground whose squawking indignation made for an excellent impression of an angry wyvern. Frederick might have been amused had the situation been different.

Robin kept her arm extended, poised to attack again should the imposter try something else. Frederick moved to her side, positioning himself slightly in front of her should this dastard even think about trying something. It was bad enough that the Plegian had been able to get so close to Robin while in disguise, but to touch her so familiarly in front of him… It made his blood boil in the worst way.

“Why have you done this?” she demanded of the imposter, “Why Frederick?”

“He was merely a pawn. You were supposed to kill him, and then I’d subdue you and bring you as the ultimate sacrifice to Grima!” he cackled before hacking and gasping for air. Frederick narrowed his eyes even further at the mention of that damned dragon. Robin spoke again.

“Why not just take me in the first place?” she pressed.

“You weren’t asleep,” the imposter hissed between coughs. Frederick almost smiled; as much as he berated the tactician for her poor sleeping habits, it seemed to have served her well for once. He wasn’t sure what he would’ve done had the Plegian’s plan worked and Robin was taken. He set those thoughts aside; there were other questions that needed answers first.

"Are there others of you?" He asked, his sharp words cutting across the man's coughing fit. 

The Plegian pushed stringy, matted hair from his face and twisted his face into a grotesque mockery of a smile. "The Grimleal...will do anything to ensure Grima rises again!" he boasted before succumbing to another bout of hacking. The lieutenant merely watched in disdain as the imposter vainly attempted to compose himself.

“But how-” the man spat, “how did you know? Where did-” _cough, cough_ “-where did I go wrong?”

"I don't owe you any answers," Robin seethed. "You're finished." And with that, she sent a final crack of lightning toward the Plegian. Not bothering to watch the aftermath, she turned to Frederick and let out a shaky sigh.

“Are you alright?” she asked, eyeing his side where the dastard had gotten a lucky shot in. He grimaced as he looked at it, cursing himself for letting the man get in even so much as a scratch.

“I’ll be fine, milady. I’ve had worse,” he replied. “For now, let’s return to camp.”

“I couldn’t agree more, Freddybear,” she smiled wanly, pushing wayward strands of white hair out of her face. He hadn’t noticed it earlier, but the moonlight strands spilled freely over her shoulders.

He hadn’t ever seen it down before. It was very pretty.

“I was in a bit of a rush to find you, there was no time to fret over hair ties,” she explained. He belatedly realized that he’d spoken aloud and prayed to the gods that he hadn’t let slip the second part of his thoughts. Fighting the flush that was creeping up his neck, he bent over to pick up one of the two lances while Robin moved to pick up the other. As they started to head towards camp, he extended his hand to reach for the lance she carried but pulled up short when he winced at the pain from the gash on his side.

“Here, wait, I think I might have an emergency vulnerary or something in here,” Robin said as she paused to dig around in her satchel. After a few seconds of rummaging, she pulled out a small vial and handed it to him. He noticed her fingers tremble as she placed it in his palm. _She must be exhausted_ , he reasoned, suddenly feeling immensely guilty for causing her such hardship at this hour. He thanked her and downed the bitter liquid. The effects were immediate; the wound wasn’t completely healed, but it felt much better. He pocketed the empty container and they started forward again.

"Thank you for finding me," he said quietly as they trudged along. "I wasn't sure anyone would notice my absence until morning."

She made a noncommittal noise and pulled her hood up. She didn’t say anything as they walked through the trees, leaving Frederick to his own thoughts. He wondered how she had noticed his disappearance but figured she must have been to his tent to discuss battle plans as she so often did. He decided he wouldn't admonish her over staying up too late tonight since she'd also saved his life.

What he really wanted to know, though, was how she had known which of them (which of _him_ ) had been the Plegian. He fully trusted in her - how could he not, with all the times they’d fought side by side? - and even if he didn’t doubt her, he was still puzzled himself. As much as he hated to admit it, the imposter had been damned good at impersonating him, from the way he swung his lance to the way he used his words. If the situation had been turned, he wasn’t sure he could’ve done what she had.

“Milady, if I may ask,” he began, breaking the silence, “how _did_ you know he was the imposter?”

He instantly regretted the question as she froze mid step and tightened her already white-knuckled grasp on the lance she carried. She hung her head, her hood further obscuring her face.

“It was obvious,” she hedged, voice tight, and Frederick didn’t push. He merely gave a curt nod and refrained from asking further questions as they continued on their way. He supposed it only mattered that she chose correctly.

A little part of him had hoped that she would say her heart had known who the real Frederick was, but the thought was repressed as quickly as it came. He berated himself for such sappiness, for the emotions that did not belong in a knight like himself. He’d kept his feelings tamped down for this long, and it wasn’t fair to project them onto her when she was already tired and vulnerable.

When they reached the edge of camp, however, he found himself reaching a hand out to touch Robin’s shoulder. She hesitated before turning to face him, death grip still strong on the lance.

“Robin, I…” he began, but the words died in his throat when her face tilted up a little higher and her hood fell back. The moonlight glinting between the branches betrayed the tear tracks running down her face. He stared at her, stunned speechless by her quiet pain.

She pulled away from him, and his arm fell to his side as his heart fell to his feet. He’d missed his chance. “I know, I know, what would you do without me?” she teased half-heartedly, a sharp contrast to the normal banter they shared. She offered him a tremulous smile before dropping her head and pivoting away again. She hastily swiped a hand across her face. “C’mon, Frederick, you need to get your side bandaged up or else you can’t pick up pebbles in the morning.”

Normally he would've argued the importance of clearing paths and anticipating hazards, but tonight he merely followed silently behind her as she led the way to the infirmary tent. He couldn't recall ever feeling more helpless and absolutely useless than he did in that moment.

“Hey, Libra,” Robin greeted as they entered the tent. Said war monk looked up from his desk as she went on, “Frederick here got caught up in a fight and nicked his side.” She gestured to the lieutenant who stood stoically behind her. “Could you bandage him up and keep an eye on him?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Frederick cut in. “I am more than capable of returning to my tent for the night.”

“A fight at this time of night,” Libra mused, more of a question than anything.

“The threat has been eliminated,” Frederick assured firmly. The monk nodded and rose, crossing the small space to grab bandages.

“I am glad that this is the only injury you sustained. Naga smiles upon you, Sir Frederick,” Libra smiled, also picking up a concoction from the medical kit.

“It is because of Robin that I am here,” the lieutenant replied, gaze shifting down towards the woman in question. She drew herself deeper into her coat, and Frederick’s gut sank further. Libra gestured to the nearest cot, and Frederick sat down to patiently await the discomfort of bandaging.

“Libra, if you would accompany Frederick back to his tent once you’ve finished, that would be great,” Robin said, backing herself up to the tent flap. “I’m going to go ahead and turn in for tonight. It’s been a long one.”

“Of course, Lady Robin, but first, are you well?” the monk asked lightly. Frederick eyed Robin’s tired, red-rimmed eyes and wished more than anything that he knew the cause. His fists clenched where they rested on his knees.

“Nothing some rest won’t take care of,” she assured, that same wan, tired smile on her face.

“I see. Rest well, then,” the monk answered, moving to attend to the lieutenant.

“Wait, Robin -” Frederick called, rising off the cot too late. The tactician had already made her escape.

“Please allow her to rest, good sir,” the monk chided, gently pressing down on the knight's shoulder to reseat him. “It is unlike Lady Robin to admit when she’s tired.”

“Of course, I only wanted…” Frederick didn’t know how to explain it. He lapsed into silence as Libra fixed him up and walked him back to his tent.

“Thank you, good monk,” the lieutenant sighed. “I will notify Lord Chrom in the morning of tonight’s events.”

“Of course, Sir Frederick,” Libra replied, turning to walk back to the infirmary. “May Naga smile upon your recovery, and on Lady Robin’s heartache as well.”

Frederick ducked into his tent and lit a candle, setting to work on cleaning up the space. He hadn’t been able to put up much of a fight when he’d initially been drugged, but he hadn’t been completely subdued. Looking back, he supposed that the imposter only had enough of the sleeping drug to incapacitate Robin and not Frederick’s much larger self. He felt his fury spike again at the thought of what that dastard had planned to do, at how that horrible man had _actually_ caressed Robin like that. He forced it out of his mind as he straightened out his mess of a tent. Once it was back in order, he laid down on his cot and closed his eyes.

Sleep evaded him. He couldn’t get the image of Robin’s tears out of his head, of how she pulled away from him when she was hurting. He wanted so badly to go to her immediately, but he knew she needed rest every bit as much as he did (and more so).

As he finally drifted off, he promised himself he’d talk to her in the morning.

* * *

The next morning found Frederick as busy as ever. It seemed as though Robin had already awoken and informed Chrom and Lissa about the events of the night prior, as the two of them crashed into his tent as he was finishing strapping on his armor.

“Frederick! I’m so glad you’re okay!” Lissa cried as she threw her arms around him. Chrom came up and patted his lieutenant on the shoulder. Frederick briefly hugged Lissa in return and nodded toward his lord.

“Robin told us about last night,” the Exalt shared. “We’re all lucky that she doesn’t sleep.”

“I’m not sure her insomnia should be celebrated, my lord,” Frederick said bluntly as Lissa backed up a bit.

“Well, maybe just this one time then,” Chrom smiled.

The lieutenant shook his head. “Come now, we’re wasting the day,” he stated, effectively shooing his lieges out of his tent. As the three of them exited Frederick’s space, more of the Shepherds approached him and asked about what had happened, how he fared. He was simultaneously grateful and annoyed; it was nice to know that he was cared about, but he really just wanted to talk to Robin and move forward with his day as he normally would.

Unfortunately for him, the tactician remained elusive. Though he was able to complete his duties (with a little unnecessary hovering from his lord and lady), he hadn’t caught a single glimpse of white hair nor a purple coat. Well, aside from Henry, that is, who had overheard Frederick muttering to himself while polishing weapons.

“Maybe she’s gotten herself kidnapped too!” the dark mage giggled. “Who knows what kind of awful hexes they’d try on her?”

“Do not speak like that,” Frederick bit out, the idea now churning in his head. What if that was exactly what had happened? What if there _was_ another imposter here after all?

“Don’t be silly,” Tharja rolled her eyes nearby, “I would know if Robin left.” Frederick wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or unsettled by her comment, nor was he sure of how he’d found himself with both Plegians to begin with. The dismal company wasn’t particularly welcomed.

“Besides,” she continued with a sneer, “Robin has been with Sumia all day helping that bumbling fool to woo the prince.”

The lieutenant instantly lifted his head to scan for the pegasus rider. He felt bad admitting it, but the sounds of Sumia’s clumsiness would be much easier to track than Robin’s careful steps. Sure enough, a clash sounded in the direction of the mess tent. He immediately abandoned the conversation (if it could be called that) to move toward the noise, uncaring of how obvious he was. He could feel Tharja’s icy glare on his back but ignored it, entering the tent where the commotion was and quickly assessing the situation.

“Oh no, Robin, I’m so sorry!” Sumia cried from her place on the ground. Robin - relief coursed through him just at seeing her - had something dark and soupy covering the front of her coat.

“It’s okay, Sumia, really! I can always wash it,” she soothed, removing her iconic jacket and gingerly tossing it to the side before helping her friend to stand. Frederick flushed; it wasn’t often that he saw the tactician without her jacket, and he was newly reminded of her feminine figure. She didn’t have the curves that Tharja or even Sumia did, but the flare of her hips and gentle slopes of her neck and shoulders made her more enticing than any other woman could ever hope to be. He recalled how her hair had cascaded down her back the night prior, and wondered how silky it would feel between his fingers as he moved it aside to kiss the soft skin of her nape...

He looked away and cleared his throat. Such thoughts were unbecoming of a knight of his station, not to mention they were immensely disrespectful to Robin. He willed his cheeks not to burn.

“Oh, Sir Frederick!” Sumia called, and he returned his gaze to the women. Sumia was waving happily but Robin wasn’t looking at him, hastily gathering up her coat from the floor instead.

“I’d better hurry and clean this before the stain sets in,” she said by way of goodbye to Sumia, briefly nodding to Frederick and moving to pass him to reach the exit.

“Wait, Robin,” he blocked her path with his arm, “would you like assistance with that? I know a few tricks about stains thanks to Lady Lissa.” He smiled even though his heart was pounding.

“Oh, n-no, that’s quite alright, Frederick,” she stammered, skirting around him with her coat bundled tightly in her arms and entirely oblivious to his dashed hopes. “I’m sure you’ve got millions of other things to do, yeah? I’ll just get this done real quick, and - yeah,” she finished lamely, quickly escaping from the tent. He made to follow her, but Sumia stumbled forward to catch his arm.

“Let her go, Sir Frederick,” she quietly implored him. He looked down at her, but she was staring sadly after her friend. “Last night was really hard on her.”

“I understand, and I’d like to speak with her about it,” he answered but she was already shaking her head, curls bouncing with the movement.

“Just give her a little time, please,” she begged. Frederick begrudgingly nodded, and Sumia removed her hand from his forearm. He would give Robin space today; there was always tomorrow. 

* * *

“Robin, are you sure you can’t talk to him about it?”

In her tent, the Shepherd’s tactician blew on her tea before sipping it. It was so nice of Sumia to drop by so late in the evening. The pegasus rider was really the only person who knew of Robin's feelings for Frederick, thus having a better idea than anyone about how hard the other night had been on her, even if Robin hadn’t shared all the details. The tactician considered her friend’s question and sighed before setting her cup back down.

“He’s worried about you,” Sumia continued, her own teacup placed far enough out of the way that she could reach it but couldn’t knock it over. “Everyone can see it - he’s been curt with everyone, more so than he normally is, yet he perks up whenever someone even so much as says your name. It’s kind of sweet, in its own way.”

“Sumia, I can’t… it’s just -” Robin struggled for words. “He can’t know. I just earned his trust not too long ago, and I can’t just - _ugh_.” She pressed her hands to her face.

“...can you at least tell me, then?” Sumia asked delicately.

The tactician was silent as her mind whirled. She hadn’t told anyone else about everything that had happened, about Frederick’s question and how she knew she couldn’t properly answer him. She could already feel the tears welling up and fruitlessly swiped at them as they began to slide down her face. Sumia moved to sit beside Robin and gathered her in her arms, stroking Robin’s hair with one hand while the other rubbed soothing circles on her back. Robin leaned into her friend, finally letting go of the pain and sorrow she’d kept hidden inside.

“I really - I didn’t know which one was the real Frederick,” she admitted between sobs. “I only figured it out because - because -”

“Shh, it’s alright, take your time.” Sumia continued to run her fingers through one of Robin’s pigtails. The tactician tried to take deep breaths, tried to steady herself to let out the truth.

“I knew it wasn’t Frederick,” she whimpered softly through her tears, “because he told me he loved me.”

She felt Sumia still. “Oh, _Robin_.” The arms around Robin tightened, and she cried for all she was worth into her friend’s chest.

After what felt like ages, she finally lifted her head. Sumia’s gentle hand brushed away the last of Robin’s tears.

“Thank you, Sumia,” the tactician sniffled, “I’m sorry for making a mess of your lovely dress.”

“Nonsense,” her friend waived it off, “are you feeling better now?”

“A little,” she admitted. Robin didn’t like giving into emotions like that frequently, but she couldn’t deny that the catharsis really had helped.

“I still think you should tell him,” Sumia gently suggested, “I think you’ll find that he trusts you more than you think.”

Robin didn’t answer and Sumia didn’t push her. The tactician considered the pros and cons of just telling Frederick. On the pro side, she wouldn’t have to keep hiding from him and she could go back to spending time with him and fighting by his side. On the other hand, he might never want to see her again knowing she has feelings for him outside of camaraderie. For all she knew, he might have his heart set on someone else.

 _But I won’t know unless I go for it_. And she was honestly tired of avoiding him.

“A few more days,” she murmured to Sumia, “a few more days, and I’ll tell him.”

* * *

If Frederick had been worried about Robin before, he was absolutely drowning in it now. It had been a week since she had rescued him, and she didn’t seem any more inclined to see him now than she had the morning after. His heart wrenched every time she hurried to remove herself from his presence, always citing some other thing she needed to do or some other place she needed to be. He couldn’t pretend he didn’t notice the dark bags under her eyes nor the way she couldn’t quite look at him as she ran from him time and time again.

She was upset, enough to last for days. He needed to talk to her, it couldn’t wait any longer. He stayed away, biding his time until nightfall and the rest of the camp was asleep (save the night watch) before he approached her tent. There was a candle lit inside; he could see the glow from several feet away. He tapped on the entry flap, announcing himself without revealing himself.

There was no answer. Just as he was about to walk away to find where she had gone, he heard the telltale sounds of shuffling paper from within the tent. He rapped on the tent flap again and cleared his throat.

"Oh! Just a sec-" Robin called out. She sounded incredibly tired, and he felt a little pang of irritation that she wasn’t sleeping when she so clearly needed it. He heard her mutter some words, then she pulled aside the tent flap.

“Is everything- oh, hello, Sir Frederick.” The shadows cast on her face by the candle inside did her countenance no favors, only highlighting the contrast between her pale skin and the purple under her eyes. He hated the distance she was already trying to put between them by using his title, something she used to do only when formally addressing him in the courts.

“I’d like a word with you,” he said. He didn't even bother to hope that she'd hear him out, if the past few days were anything to go by. Instead, he waited for her inevitable rejection and readied his next words.

Sure enough: “It's kind of late, so I don't-”

“This is no later than usual for you, so please spare me the excuses. Gods know you’ve used enough of them this week.” He clasped his hands behind him and shifted his body into the familiar parade rest position of his class.

She stared at him, and he could see her anger visibly rising. _Good_ , he thought, _something better than avoidance_.

“I’ve been busy,” she bit out through gritted teeth.

“Supposedly so, and only ever when I am nearby. I’ve been trying to talk to you all week-”

“Look, if this is about the lack of bear meat practice, I’m sorry. We can pick it back up again tomorrow-”

“Damn the bear meat, Robin! I’ve been worried mad about you,” he finally exploded, fighting the urge to run a hand through his hair in frustration. Her eyes were the size of tea saucers and her mouth hung open. “It’s been a week since we dealt with that imposter, and don’t think I’ve been so oblivious as to not notice you’ve been avoiding me. I’ve seen how upset you are,” he lowered his voice, stepping closer to her, only inches away. Her breathing abruptly spiked and she recoiled from him like he was a Risen. It hurt, admittedly, but her next words gave him hope.

“Fine, but we’ll talk about it inside,” she muttered, turning her back on him. He followed her into her tent, letting the flap fall back into place behind him. Once inside, she walked over to her desk and whirled around to face him, hands on her hips. “Okay, Frederick, here I am. Let me have it.”

“Let you have what?” He was confused. “I’m angered and hurt by your actions this week, yes, but I’m more concerned about you, Robin,” he stated plainly. The tactician looked like she wanted to argue, but her steam ran out before she could say anything.

“I’m sorry, okay?” she sighed, running a hand over her face. “I...it’s been a week,” she laughed tonelessly. “It wasn’t ever my intention to hurt you, Frederick. Far from it.”

“That doesn’t matter,” he easily waved it away, “Please, tell me what’s had you in such a state since that night. I’d like to help if I can. I owe you my life, after all.” She cringed, and he wondered what the issue was. They’d saved each other countless times in battle, what was different about this time?

“I appreciate the offer, but I’ll be okay. I just need a bit more time-”

“You’ve had all week!” he exclaimed, clenching his hands at his sides. “Clearly this isn’t something that you’ve been able to handle on your own! If you would just tell me, I can assist you in whatever it is-”

“Fine!” She threw her hands up in the air. “Fine, if you really want to know what my issue is, it’s _you_ , Frederick.”

That caught him off guard, but it didn’t take long for his surprise to melt into outrage. “ _Me?!_ ” He stormed forward, looming dangerously over her. “How could I possibly be your problem when you haven’t seen me for a week?”

“Because every time I see you,” she leaned forward to match him, crossing her arms over her chest, “I keep thinking back to that night.”

“You’ve had days to process it, milady. I certainly have put it behind me; it’s long past time for you to do the same.”

“If it was that easy, then I’d have done it, don’t you think?” she hissed.

“It IS that easy! I’m here because you made the right choice. That’s enough for me, and it should be enough for you.”

“But it’s not! I couldn’t- You wanna know how I knew, Frederick?” she suddenly changed the direction of the conversation, “How I knew which one of you was the imposter?”

He looked at her, at how her body shook but she still held strong. Her core of steel was finally shining through; he’d missed seeing it. He’d missed seeing _her_. The thought instantly sobered him.

“Yes, I’d like to know,” he answered quietly.

Her fire spluttered out altogether, almost frightening in how quick she transitioned to almost lifelessness. He made to take another step closer to her, but she held up a hand.

“When I had him - the other you - on my shoulder,” she began, looking at her desk instead of at Frederick, “he was so gentle.”

The lieutenant recalled that moment in perfect clarity. His fury rose as he remembered the sweet way in which the imposter had touched her face as a lover would, in the way that Frederick himself longed to but couldn’t.

“I knew it wasn’t you,” she whispered, so quiet he had to bend even closer to hear her, “because he said something to me that I’ve been hoping to hear from you for a while. But I know it will never happen, and I feel so terribly guilty about it because I wanted to believe it was really you saying that.” He could see her eyes start to water, and she pressed her hand over her trembling lips.

“What was it?” he couldn’t help but ask.

“The man wearing your face...he told me he loved me.” And with that, she collapsed into her desk chair, her tears pouring over her cheeks despite the hands that had come up to cover her face. 

Shock froze him in place. His tongue had suddenly become a knot in his mouth as he processed what she’d said. Was she so opposed to his feelings that it had bothered her all week? He was stunned into silence, and she kept talking as if she couldn’t hold in her words any more than she could hold in her tears.

“And I feel so bad,” she cried, “because I wanted him to be you, when he said that. I wanted it more than anything.” His head spun while attempting to make sense of what she was saying.

“I...I would understand if you never trusted me again after this, I would get it,” she kept on, “I’ve betrayed your trust in the worst way by letting my feelings get in the way. I have no excuses for it, and I’m so, so sorry.” He’d never seen her like this, so absolutely inconsolable. He wanted to help her and while he understood what she said, he was still struggling with their meaning.

“Let me get this straight. You knew that he was the imposter because he said ‘I love you’?” 

“Yeah,” she affirmed, tears still flowing down her face. 

He tried to comprehend it, his thoughts still whirling around in his head trying to connect the dots. _She knew who the imposter was because the man said he loved her. She felt bad because she wanted it to be true. She wanted me to love her, and felt like she betrayed my trust because of that._

Robin wanted him to love her.

And he did, oh gods how he did. He needed to tell her, he had to set things right and soothe her self-inflicted pain.

“Robin, I will always place my trust in you,” he murmured, kneeling beside her chair.

If anything, she seemed to cry harder, her whole body bent in half as if to protect herself.

“You saved me, and that’s something I’ll always be grateful for, milady,” he continued, tilting her chin up with his hand and trying in vain to get her to look at him. “And if I’m honest, I...I really do harbor feelings for you.” His blush ran hot across his face, but he refused to look away from her even if she wouldn’t look at him.

“Please, Frederick, you don’t have to make this harder. You pity me, and that’s okay, but-”

“My feelings aren’t out of pity,” he stated, desperation building in his voice. He brought his other hand up, framing her face between his palms to finally force her to see him, force her to see his honesty. “You’re a remarkable tactician, and it brings me joy to fight by your side and protect you. When you are struck down, it’s though I’ve been struck down myself. You’re so incredibly intelligent; you amuse me with your witty remarks, even if I am also exasperated by them. I am inspired by your heart and am captivated by your beauty. No one on this earth has ever caught my attention so thoroughly.” He thumbed at the tear tracks on her face as she stared at him. “I am completely enamored with you, Robin, and I’ll do whatever it takes to make you believe it to be true.”

Her eyes widened but she didn’t reply, and the longer the silence stretched the more nervous he became. He willed himself to not squirm under her scrutiny, instead keeping his face open and calm so she wouldn't doubt the truth behind his words.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Tell me something only the real Frederick would know."

He understood her wariness, but his heart ached nonetheless. “The first battle we fought together was at Southtown,” he answered, “You were still covered in dirt from where we found you, and you happened to have a Thunder tome and a bronze sword that you barely knew how to swing. You prefer your tea with sugar but without cream, and you hold the cup in your left hand even though you're right-handed with most other things. You worry a great deal more than you should, and I know that’s rich coming from me. You -” he lowered his voice "- you really are wonderful, Robin, in more ways than a lowly knight like me knows how to say."

He stopped there, feeling like he was rambling but wanting to make absolutely clear that he was himself. His heart leapt up into his throat as he waited for her approval or, gods forbid, her rejection.

When she still didn't speak, he opened his mouth to say more, to give however much undeniable proof of his identity as she needed. She cut him off with just the simple touch of her little hands curling around his wrists, a slow smile spreading across her face.

“Frederick,” she whispered. Suddenly, she launched herself at him, half-laughing and half-sobbing as she flung her arms around his neck. He somehow managed to keep his balance, arms closing around her and heart beating faster than his horse could run.

“Oh, Frederick!” she cried happily, “I have loved you for so long, I just - I was so worried that I would lose you because of it.”

“I am sorry to have given you that impression, milady, but I can assure you that it’s mistaken." He cradled the back of her head as he hugged her even tighter. "There is no one I trust more than you; my life and my heart are in your hands.”

“I’ll keep them safe,” she promised, “so long as you do the same with mine.”

“It would be an honor,” he replied. She leaned back, face lit up in happiness, and he swore that if he had it his way, she’d be this happy for the rest of her life. His eyes roamed over her face, then zeroed in on her lips. He noticed her gaze fall to his own lips, and he lowered his head toward hers.

“May I?” he murmured, hesitating with his lips a hair's breadth from hers, his intent crystal clear.

“ _Yes_ ," she breathed. He didn’t need any further urging before closing the distance between them and pressing his mouth to hers. Her lips were a little dry and yet surprisingly soft, even for all his dreaming of this moment. It only served to make the experience more real. He moved his arms to her waist as her hands fell to rest on his chest. He broke off the kiss to catch his breath, but she tugged on his dress ribbon to bring him back down to her. He smiled as he indulged her (and himself) until they were both breathless.

“I love you, Robin. Please allow me to court you,” he pleaded.

“You silly man,” she laughed, hugging him again, “Please court me.”

“I would love nothing more,” he chuckled, kissing her again. He didn’t think he could ever tire of it, of being with her like this.

He could’ve stayed that way for hours, but then Robin yawned. As it was, it _had_ been a while since he’d first entered her tent, and nighttime wouldn’t stay forever.

“Forgive me, milady, I hadn’t noticed the time,” he said, standing up and bringing her with him.

“I didn’t want to notice the time,” she confessed into his chest, and his heart swelled with affection. For as fierce as he knew she could be, she was equal parts adorable.

“I’ll leave you to rest, then,” he smiled as she yawned again. He was reluctant to go, but it was improper to stay.

“Tomorrow, we’ll...continue this?” she asked, hope shining in her eyes. He couldn’t help himself; he kissed her once more.

“Absolutely,” he affirmed, reluctantly pulling away.

“Good,” she replied, meeting his gaze despite the rosy blush across her face. “I very much look forward to it.”

He groaned and covered his eyes with his hand. “If you don’t stop with your sweet words, I won’t be able to leave tonight.”

“...I wouldn’t mind you staying.” His hand jerked away from his face as he gaped at her. She wasn’t looking at him, but she was red all the way to the tips of her ears. Naga have mercy on him, Robin was just too much for his poor heart.

“I...am sorely tempted,” he admitted, “but my station demands that I be up precisely at dawn, and you need more sleep than that, milady.”

“Very well,” she said, linking her fingers in his and walking with him to the exit of her tent. As he moved to duck out, she stopped him. She raised to her tiptoes, and he bent down to kiss her one last time.

Still smiling, she whispered, “Goodnight, Frederick.”

“Goodnight, Robin,” he returned before slipping out into the night. The crisp night air was a stark contrast to the warmth found in Robin’s tent and he knew he would only have but a few hours’ worth of rest tonight, but he couldn’t be bothered by either.

As he laid down to sleep on his cot, Frederick decided that the future had never looked brighter than it did now. He drifted to sleep, visions of long white hair and soft pink lips enticing his dreams. Tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough.


End file.
